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15 Himself The train pulled away. As it rattled past the traffic signals on the outskirts of Smolensk, 1 was already approaching the Komsomol Regional Committee building. The winter dawn had just begun to turn the white walls of the city's ancient houses a pale blue. The Komsomol office hadn't opened yet. 1 idled for a time by the locked door until the wintry air chilled me to the bone. 1 set off at a trot down the street, jogging as far as a poster stand, and then turned and ran back. 1 did this several times, until a pleasant warmth spread throughout my body. The city slowly changed colors, from violet blue to a faint pink. 1 heard the rattle of the day's first streetcar and the drone of its first truck. When the door finally opened, 1 rushed into the office with a group of eagerly waiting visitors. 1 stuck my head into one doorway after another, seeing no one. "Where has the First Secretary gotten to?" 1 demanded of a frail-looking man with spectacles who was striding importantly down the corridor carrying a leather briefcase. He peered over his glasses at me in surprise, a mute question in his eyes: who on earth might need to talk to "Himself"? But then, he caught the look of stubbornness on my face and decided not to press the question. "The black door around the corner," he answered. A short, plump secretary staunchly blocked the door to "Himself's" office . But something about me, perhaps my height or the look on my face, made her cede the way. 1 stepped jauntily across the threshold and, afraid that I'd be immediately ejected, blurted out in one breath, "1 need work and a place to live, as soon as possible!" A young man seated at an imposing-looking desk raised his head and fixed his bespectacled eyes on me with interest. "What's your problem, Comrade?" "My problem can't wait," 1 answered, letting spill my whole story in a confused and agitated jumble. 1 told him everything: the metro, the aeroclub, the military flight school, my brother. The First Secretary listened in ra pt silence , with concern in his eyes. He seemed to understand me. A young girl, a Komsomol, who had mastered the complexities of aviation, was being denied her greatest love. He also knew as well as 1 did that war stood at our nation's doorstep. We Soviets were then fortifying our defenses, developing our industry, and rearming the military at a furious pace. HIMSELF 55 As "Himself" listened to my muddled tale, he began to wonder: why expel a qualified aviator for no reason, especially at a time then the nation desperately needed pilots, and Osoaviakhim's combat training program was strained to the limits? "Do you have your papers with you?" "Here they are," I said, handing him my passport, Komsomol card, my red Metrostroy certificate, and my graduation records from the aeroelub. I sat on the divan and wept bitterly while "Himself" perused my documents and made phone calls, asking me questions in a sympathetic tone. Finally, he said, "Look, could you teach our boys to fly gliders?" "Of course I could!" "Excellent. Your papers are certainly in order." My joy and relief stole my breath away. "Well, Crybaby, let's go have lunch," said the Secretary sardonically. "No, thank you!" I said, but he would have none of it. "Let's go," he said, and pulled me by the hand to the canteen. After paying for lunch, he glanced at my empty wallet and lent me twenty-five rubles until my first paycheck. "So, you're interested in a job and a place to live?" he said with an air of amused triumph. "Well, while you were busy howling, I arranged for you to work as an accountant at the Smolensk flax factory. You'll like the factory collective. They're young, energetic people. Meanwhile, you'll start organizing the glider school. "Go straight to the personnel department at the factory. I've already arranged everything. Once you get things settled there, go see the aeroelub commissar. I understand there's a training group there for cadets who have already mastered piloting skills. "By the way, how many brothers do you have?" the Secretary added suddenly. "Five." "Well, you are riel1 in brothers. I have none. If they ask you to write a resume, don't waste too much...

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